


Unexpected --- Three Little Words

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dark, Drama, Explicit Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-04
Updated: 2007-02-04
Packaged: 2018-10-26 13:23:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10787553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Harry learns that words can have an unexpected power, for both bad and good.





	Unexpected --- Three Little Words

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes:

**_Heavy angst and graphic depictions of self harm. DO NOT READ IF THAT SQUICKS YOU OUT. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. However, there is hope at the end. My beta for this full length story was abigail89, and I thank her very much for doing a great job._ **

**_This story incorporates and expands events set forth in my OUNCE OF PREVENTION drabble series, specifically, the drabble "Right Before the Dawn"._ **

**_It also should be noted that this is story number 3 in my Harry/Ron 50 Prompt Word Table fic Slash-a-thon (Or whatever I'm calling it here. The prompt word was 'Unexpected")_ **   


* * *

 

“Ron, let me see your Transfiguration essay.”  
  
“Surely you don’t expect anything in MY essay to be right. If you want that, go get Hermione,” Ron smirked, but he passed the parchment over without another thought, and Harry just laughed and looked it over.   
  
He was sure he had missed something.   
  
His own essay was still an inch too short; just a few little words. That was all he needed and he’d be done. Surely he could find something. Harry groaned. “Too bad Hermione’s already in bed or I would ask to see her copy, not that she’d actually let me have it,” Harry quipped. “Nah, mate, there’s nothing here I see that I --- wait!” Harry squinted and peered carefully at the bottom of the parchment; he turned the document over. “What’s this?” he asked curiously. 

“What’s what?” Ron asked back slowly, tentatively looking up from his own homework.

“This?” Harry leaned closer to show Ron the three small letters he had found on the back of the parchment, but Ron seemed to pull the slightest bit back. Harry looked at him a bit oddly, but just shook it off. He might not have caught the tiny letters ordinarily, but the light happened to catch the paper just right and he saw through it. He pointed the letters out to Ron. “R. F. G.? What’s that stand for?”  


Any trace of playfulness that had been left in Ron’s eyes was suddenly gone and he darted them away. He looked at the table, their books, other pieces of parchment, anywhere other than at those three letters or at Harry. He flushed a bit and shifted in his seat. Harry could tell he hadn’t expected the question.   
  
“Oh, that? It’s nothing!” Ron answered quickly. “Must have just been something I scribbled down when I was in a hurry. Maybe somebody’s initials from Transfiguration notes or something.” He rubbed absently at his arm.  
  
Harry stared at him, but Ron refused to look up or elaborate anymore on the subject. “Okay,” he replied a little tersely, ”well, anyway, there isn’t anything here that I can use, so I suppose I better hit the books one more time.” Harry was definitely suspicious now.   
  
“Don’t become another Hermione!” Ron tried to joke, but the smile didn’t register in his eyes. He suddenly seemed… Harry wasn’t quite sure how to put it: ‘wooden‘, maybe, or perhaps ‘hollow’ was more accurate. Harry didn’t understand; how could one question have changed Ron’s mood so dramatically?

“Mate, NO ONE could ever be another Hermione!” Harry tried to banter back, but it fell on deaf ears. Their easy, casual mood was gone.

Ron fidgeted with his jumper sleeve again. “I think I’m gonna go grab a shower and head off to bed,” he suddenly announced. “I’ve done enough homework for the night.” He seemed flustered and kept scratching at his arms; he stood from the table, quickly lifted his bag, lowered his head, and started for the boys’ dormitory.   


“Ron, wait --”  
  
“See ya in the morning, Harry,” Ron called out as he rushed the stairs two at a time.  
  
“Ron!”   
  
But Ron was not going to answer him or come back down and Harry knew it.   
  
Harry was perplexed and worried. He knew Ron could be moody, especially since everything that had happened between them after his name came out of the Goblet of Fire. But this seemed very sudden and so unexpected; almost as if Ron was afraid of being in the same room with him now since he had asked about those letters. Ron had gone from comfortable, playful bantering to complete nervousness in a manner of mere seconds.  
  
And it was because of those three letters.   
  
Something about those letters made Ron very uncomfortable, and Harry knew damn well they weren’t just some random Trangifuration notes scribbled down on a spare bit of parchment.  
  
R.F.G…  
  
What could that stand for? It wasn’t Ron’s full initials, nor the initials of anyone they knew. The R could maybe stand for Ron, but he had no idea what the other letters meant. The G could possibly mean Granger, he supposed, but that didn’t even make any sense.   
  
_Ron Fancies Granger_? Why the hell would he have written that? Scribbling love notes on their essays wasn’t the kind of thing blokes went around doing anyway. And if that was the case, why not just have R. L. H.? _Ron Loves Hermione_. But Harry didn’t think Hermione had anything to do with it. If she did, Ron might have blushed and tried to change the subject, but he wouldn’t have run away. He wouldn’t have backed away from Harry with such trepidation, with such fear.   
  
Harry seriously doubted it was short for, _Ron Feels Great_ , not after the reaction he had just witnessed.  
  
Well, if Harry had learned how to do anything in all of his time at Hogwarts, it was how to sneak about undetected when he needed information. Ron was going to be in the shower for a bit, and though Harry hated to invade his privacy, he was going to. He was going to see if those letters, or possibly what they stood for, were written on any of Ron’s other school things.  
  
Harry scrambled up to the dorm as quickly and quietly as he could. At first he didn’t see Ron’s bag laying on his bed (which was the usual spot, and that struck him as suspicious as well), but after some nosing around he finally found it tucked carefully away at the bottom of Ron’s trunk under an old quilt and an even older robe. Carefully, he removed the bag and pulled out each item within: each book, parchment, even scraps of paper that should have seemed inconsequential.   
  
He found the letters R. F. G. written eight more times, always in Ron’s own handwriting. He found it in books, on class notes, on the backs of more essays, and especially on those scraps of what should have been inconsequential paper.   
  
Every time he found the letters it nagged at him more and more. He should KNOW what those letters stood for. He just knew he should.   
  
Something about them was familiar, but he just couldn’t quite place it. But whatever they were, Ron was obsessed with them, and they were sad and harsh, and caused him pain. Somehow Harry knew that instinctually.  
  
How could Harry know that unless he was connected to them as well?  
  
That thought gave Harry a minute’s pause and made his heart clench. He didn’t want to be connected to anything that caused Ron pain .He didn’t want to cause Ron anymore pain than he already had. They had both had to deal with enough; didn’t they deserve a damn break?  
  
Harry carefully put all of Ron’s things back in his bag and put the bag back in the bottom of the trunk just as he had found it. And then he sat down on Ron’s bed and waited. He was going to find out about this R. F. G. It was driving him crazy and was starting to scare him.  
  
Harry waited and waited.  
  
Where the hell was Ron? What was taking him so long? Guys didn’t usually take this long in the shower unless they were wanking, and frankly, Ron did not seem like he had been in a wanking mood.   
  
Minutes ticked by.   
  
More minutes ticked by.   
  
Harry grew more and more agitated. He could not get those letters, so familiar and yet so untouchable, out of his head.  
  
Ron was only fourteen years old; even if he had been wanking, he should be done by now, and damn the consequences if he wasn’t! Harry leapt up from the bed. He was going to go get Ron. Now! They could both just deal with the embarrassment later.   
  
Harry ran to the lavatory and pushed open the door, but he could barely see because it was mostly dark, and he couldn’t even hear any water running.   
  
That was odd, maybe Ron was done and just about to come back out.   
  
But then he listened again, very carefully. He _could_ hear something. He heard sniffling, and a small choking and whimpering.   
  
Ron was crying.   
  
He hadn’t even noticed Harry come in because he was so wrapped up in himself, his own pain, his own literal and physical darkness.  
  
But then Harry heard Ron speak, so low and bitter and sad, _“Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times_ , my arse!”   
  
Dumbledore’s words, Harry remembered hearing them at the start-of-term feast last year. At the time, those world had bolstered him, given him hope and light for the future. He had never expected to hear them spoken again in such a sad, hopeless manner.  
  
But Ron didn’t finish the quote. _“Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times…”_ Ron didn’t finish the quote, perhaps Harry should, for he knew the words just as well.   
  
“If one only remembers to turn on the light!”   
  
Ron managed to muffle his shout, but he raised his head and looked around him wildly, completely frightened. “What? Harry, is that you?”  
  
“It’s me,” Harry answered. _“Lumos!”_  
  
“WHAT? NO! NO LIGHT!” Ron shouted, but it was too late. Harry had already cast the powerful light spell and had seen the blood dripping down Ron’s arms.  
  
“RON!” Harry shouted, worried and shocked, and confused. “What’s happened? How did you…” But then Harry saw it, the answer to the question he had been seeking for over the past hour.   
  
The breath left his lungs. Ice water replaced the blood in his veins. Harry’s eyes went wide and he gripped his wand with one hand and covered his mouth with the other.  
  
R. F. G.  
  
 _Right. Foul. Git._  
  
Those words were carved across Ron’s left arm.   
  
There were other marks too, straight cuttings that were still dripping blood, but those words, those scars, cut forever so deeply into Ron’s skin, into Ron’s soul.  
  
R. F. G.   
  
_Right. Foul. Git._  
  
For just a second, Harry and Ron only stared at each other, then, before Harry realized what had happened, his knees buckled and he vomited over the lavatory floor.   
  
For a moment, Ron didn’t seem to know what to panic over first: Harry having discovered him, or seeing Harry getting sick all over the place.   
  
“SHITE! SHITE! Harry? What are you… GOD DAMN!” Ron somehow had the wits about him to perform a _“Scourgify”_ to clean up Harry’s mess, but then he dropped his blade quickly, and backed away into a far corner and sank to the floor himself, holding his bleeding arms as if he could hide them now from Harry’s eyes.   
  
“What the hell are you doing here?” Ron demanded, angry and sad and panicked.   
  
“What the hell are you doing to yourself?” Harry demanded right back as soon as his voice was working again.  
  
Both young men started to weep; or in Ron’s case, he started to weep again.   
  
Harry crawled on shaky legs over to Ron, who just folded himself into a tighter ball. “WHY, Ron?” he shouted. He had to know. “Why? How long?”   
  
“I don‘t know” Ron shouted back.   
  
“RONALD WEASLEY!” Harry grabbed Ron’s shoulders, smearing his mate’s blood across his own hands. “You tell me and you tell me RIGHT NOW!”  
  
Ron tilted his head up and gave Harry a look that he had never seen before: hatred, pure, unadulterated hatred, but not directed at him. Harry saw hurt and sadness, and a kind of loneliness that he didn‘t think anyone could have ever born, but more than anything, he saw the deepest-seated self-hatred. “BECAUSE YOU WERE RIGHT!” Ron bellowed until it echoed off the walls. “You’re still right. I am foul! I’ll never be as good as you or Hermione, or any of my brothers, or Ginny. And no one’s ever just said it out loud before, but they ALL think it!, But that was finally it; YOU finally just said it, and you were right! I am so foul! I am so bad! I should pay back for how bad I am! I SHOULD NEVER BE ALLOWED TO FORGET IT!”  
  
Ron banged his head hard into the wall behind him a couple of times, and Harry was prepared to stun him to make him stop, but then his tirade just seemed to leave him completely, and it was like he was totally drained of all energy. He collapsed back against the wall and just started to sob.  
  
Harry tried to pull Ron back up into a hug, but Ron hollered and struggled against him with the little energy he had. “NO! FOUL, FOUL, FOUL!” he cried.  
  
Harry’s heart cracked in two and the ice water flooded his chest, but he had no choice but to let Ron rest against the wall for now.   
  
Harry knew Ron was insecure. He knew Ron could be moody, jealous, depressed and self-effacing.  
  
But he had never expected this.  
  
 _Right. Foul. Git._  
  
He had never expected to see his best mate cutting such ugly marks, and those terrible, horrid words into his own skin. HIS words! His very own words (“You’re a right foul git, you know that!”) had cut so deeply into Ron’s soul that Ron now cut them into his skin -- even though their fight was over and they had made up weeks ago!  
  
Harry was a wizard, he should have thought about the power that words could carry, even supposedly non-magical words.  
  
Everyone talks about the power of _those three little words_ ; even Muggles knew of the power that an _“I love you“_ could hold. But Harry would have never thought about the kind of destruction and damage and pain THESE three little words could cause.   
  
“I love you” wasn’t supposed to be magical, but it was powerful. Wordless love had the power to save; he definitely knew that. His mother hadn’t had the chance to tell him she loved him one last time before she died, but it was still her love for him that saved his life.   
  
If three supposedly non-magical, but seriously powerful words, nonetheless, could hurt and cause such bleeding, then three equally powerful (and maybe even magical) words and blood, given willingly, could save. His mother’s love had saved him, and while Ron might not technically be in a life-threatening situation, Harry had to do _something_. Who knew how bad his self-harm might become, or what he may have already tried.

Harry shuddered; He didn't want to think about what Ron may have already tried. He could see the scars and how much of Ron’s skin they covered. He could hazard a guess as to how long this had been going on; how long Ron had suffered in silence. _Right. Foul. Git._  
  
No, Ron wasn’t foul; he had never been foul or bad. He had his bad days and his faults just like everyone else. But he had NEVER been foul! Ron was loved, even if he couldn’t see it or understand it.  
  
But Harry could make him see.  
  
 _I. Love. You._  
  
Harry picked up the blade Ron had dropped in his haste to back away from him and he sliced a deep cut through the palm of his left hand.  
  
Ron stopped crying and looked at him like he was crazy. “What are you doing?” He reached for the blade.  
  
Harry pulled back out of his reach. “I’m healing us. Trust me on this. You’re just going to have to trust me.”  
  
Harry winced as his hand pooled with blood, but he thought of all the times Ron had pulled the blade across his flesh and he made himself steadfastly ignore the pain. Ron had suffered, and so much of it was because of him. He could easily manage one cut in Ron’s honor.  
  
Ron just stared at him wide-eyed and scared. Clearly he’d thought Harry had lost his mind.  
  
When Harry’s palm was filled, he dipped his right index finger into the blood and reached for Ron’s left arm. He looked Ron carefully in the eyes. “Trust me. Please just trust me. I hurt us, now let me heal us. Hold out your arm.”  
  
Ron looked at him as if he were in a daze, but silently did as Harry asked. Over the words _Right Foul Git_ Harry began to write new words in his own blood. Ron watched, astonished, as Harry wrote a few letters, then dipped his finger back into his blood-filled palm; wrote a few more letters, then re-dipped his finger and wrote some more. Harry continued in this manner until all three words were finished.   
  
Taking up the blade once more, Harry looked at Ron so apologetically. “I’m so sorry for this,” he said, but with no more warning that that, he quickly sliced the blade thru the new words so that Ron’s blood trickled through Harry’s. Ron gasped, but Harry quickly covered the old words and new words with his hand, mixing his blood and Ron’s blood in his palm.  
  
He then reached for his wand.  
  
“Harry what are you…”   
  
“Hush now, just let me do this.” Harry touched their skin, their blood, their words, with the tip of his wand, closed his eyes and just waited. He didn’t speak a word; he knew he wouldn’t have to.  
  
Warmth began to spread up through the length of his arm and out his fingers. His wand vibrated and cast a brilliant, shimmering light. Harry knew the instant Ron felt the spell hit him because he gasped, and the electricity in the air changed, shifted, almost as if they were trapped inside the brightest of fairy lights. The connection tingled and hummed, and Harry could actually feel the words change under his hand as the electricity pulsated.   
  
Without even looking down, before Harry even removed his hand, he knew it had worked. He had just branded, scarred, Ron for life.   
  
But it was okay.  
  
Ron stared at him, his eyes so full of tears, but a different kind of tears this time. He was astonished, amazed; Harry knew it would take some time before he would ever believe anyone had ever done anything like that for him. Harry had seen a bit inside his… mind, soul, heart? Whatever it was. Ron had truly believed he was not worth love, so for someone to brand him with the words “I Love You” -- especially the same someone that had once branded him with the such terribly nasty names -- it turned his whole world upside down. 

But in a good way.  
  
 _I. Love. You._  
  
“Harry, you -- you can’t MEAN that!”   
  
Ron hadn’t even looked down at the words yet, but the connection had been strong enough that he, too, knew what his arm now said.  
  
 _I. Love. You._   
  
“I mean EVERY WORD OF IT!” Harry removed his hand and presented Ron’s own arm for him to see. “Your blood and my blood. It replaced the old with the new, the untrue with the very true. I told you I could heal us.”  
  
“U--us?” Ron was in a daze.  
  
“As long as you were hurting, so was I. I healed us. You never even expected anyone to notice because you think no one pays attention to you. But this,” Harry held up Ron’s newly adorned arm, ”will show you that at least one person does care, does love you. Permanently. With potions and things, the other marks will lighten, but this,” Harry indicated the new words again, ”will never fade.”  
  
Ron looked at him as if he were seeing a brand new person, and it occurred to Harry maybe that was exactly what it was like for him. He had seen a side of Ron tonight that he didn’t know existed; it was only fair that Ron got to see a side of Harry that he wasn’t familiar with as well.   
  
It was ironic, just earlier that night, Harry had been sick with the idea that he could be connected to Ron’s pain, and he hated that he had caused his best mate so much anguish. But the connection they shared now took away the cold inside of him; it gave him back his warmth and his beating heart, and let him breathe again.  
  
He wondered if Ron could understand any of this. He had truly healed BOTH of them.   
  
Ron looked at his arm and looked at Harry. He looked at his arm and he looked at Harry. “It… it won’t ever fade?” he asked very quietly.  
  
Ron expected it to fade, expected Harry to fade from his life. Harry wasn’t going anywhere, especially not now. ‘No, it won’t. Not ever!” Harry told him, completely confident. “We’re not going anywhere.”   
  
Ron gave him an odd look, like he wondered how it was Harry knew what he had really been worried about. Harry smiled and nodded a bit, so finally Ron gave a quick nod too.  
  
“Okay?” Harry asked.  
  
Ron slumped sideways a bit, just enough to bump shoulders with Harry. Harry hadn’t expected that but was filled with warmth at the trust the gesture indicated. 

“’kay,” Ron replied.

 

 


End file.
